


and a dark-lit smile

by charizona



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, F/F, Kinda, Voyeurism, jesus christ i finished this on christmas morning i need jesus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charizona/pseuds/charizona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Root,” Shaw almost growls, her arm taut against the handcuffs, “Let me out of these before I hurt you.”<br/>Root raises a brow like it’s a challenge, pretending that her heartbeat doesn’t quicken at the thought, before shaking her head</p>
            </blockquote>





	and a dark-lit smile

**Author's Note:**

> This of it as a pre-410. Like, what led to Root in a bear suit? Why did Root comment about Shaw being in the handcuffs and Shaw's ability to get out of them... If I remember correctly, she said something along the lines of keeping Shaw in handcuffs against her will. (And I don't buy that Shaw wasn't pissed at Root for at least a little bit).

Root drags a chair in front of Shaw and leans back into it, looking anywhere but the woman sitting handcuffed in the middle of the subway station. Root is here at Harold’s request, the Machine is silent in her ear, and she’s trying to pretend that Shaw isn’t staring daggers at her. But really, they’ve been in worse situations. Root doesn’t even have to ask the Machine to relay them to her, because they’re in the front of her mind like an irritating scar that just won’t heal. She’d just kind of hoped that Shaw would be over it by now, enough to be a little less mad at her and a little more mad at the world. You know, in general.

“You’re lucky,” Shaw says and Root looks at her sharply, a reply on the tip of her tongue. She’s about to tell Shaw that yes, she _is_ quite lucky to have such an attractive prisoner, but Shaw beats her to the punch as she continues, “that Finch would be really pissed if I killed you.”

Root tips her head to the side. “Harry doesn’t seem to like me that much,” she points out, crossing her legs. She watches Shaw’s gaze dart down to her legs and smirks.

“Doesn’t matter if he likes you,” Shaw mutters, finally looking away from Root to glare at her restraints. She’s only handcuffed to a bench, but it seems to do the trick. “The Machine’d probably throw a fit.”

Root rolls her eyes, not really caring for the direction of the conversation. She sighs longingly toward the handcuffs, wondering what the metal would feel like on her skin. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s staring at Shaw’s chest, but when she does, she doesn’t correct her gaze, not immediately. She smiles, looking up to find Shaw glaring at her. The smile on her lips is hazy and crooked and it only makes Shaw scowl more and Root thinks, if their positions were reversed, that she would make some offhand remark about Shaw liking what she saw.

But, Shaw wasn’t the one looking. Root shifts in her chair and sighs, not really caring for overstepping after she’d broken such a huge bridge with Shaw the day before. She readies herself to do what she was tasked to do: watch Shaw. (It’s not like it’s hard).

“Never really took you for a babysitter,” Shaw says after a while.

Root lets out an unexpected laugh, remembering Veronique. “You’d be surprised.” She shrugs.

Shaw levels her gaze, in that way that always makes Root feel like she’s an open book, ready for the taking. Shaw reads her, taking a long moment to look at her before she says neutrally, “Try me.”

She rattles the handcuffs and Root is reminded of a single word. _Please_. It tinges at her heart and she lets her face fall into mask of pure boredom. She drawls, “Where would the fun in that be?”

“Root,” Shaw almost growls, her arm taut against the handcuffs, “Let me out of these before I hurt you.”

Root raises a brow like it’s a challenge, pretending that her heartbeat doesn’t quicken at the thought, before shaking her head. “Sorry, Sameen. I’m under strict instructions and letting you out would be not following… all of them.”

Shaw rolls her eyes and grumbles something that suspiciously sounds like, “Since when do you follow instructions from _Harold,_ ” and Root has to make an effort to control the smile that springs up. Shaw takes several long moments to get comfortable, trying out different, and similar, positions in her corner of the bench before she just settles on closing her eyes. Root watches her, uncrossing her on legs. She knows that Shaw isn’t sleeping and, as she sits there, she thinks about other things they could be doing that are more… productive.

She sighs, hoping that it isn’t loud enough for Shaw to hear. She really doesn’t want to disappoint Harold and somehow lose Shaw, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t have her own fun.

She moves slowly, her hands drifting to the buttons of her jeans, unzipping them quietly. She stares at Shaw the entire time, the column of her neck. Briefly, she thinks about the dog and looks around, but she remembers that Harold took Bear with him. Her hand slides between cotton underwear and denim and she rubs small circles through the thin fabric.

She’s used to this, she supposes. Getting herself off while thinking about Shaw isn’t something new, but she’s never even broached the topic with the other woman and right now, Shaw’s either actually asleep or incredibly oblivious. Root crooks a leg, bending it so it's leaning against the armrest of her chair, giving her hand more room. She still hasn't moved to touch any actual skin, and she knows that Shaw would skip the teasing, in all actuality, but she feels like indulging a bit. She moves faster, ministrations making her breath catch in her chest. She can hear her own breathing now and doesn't really understand how Shaw can't. She wants to see Shaw open her eyes and she wants to see her arm go taut against the handcuffs as Root imagines that it's Shaw's hand between her legs and not her own. Her head falls against the back of the chair when she pushes the underwear aside, feeling her own wet heat.

When she lifts her head again she meets Shaw's now open eyes and pushes a finger inside of herself. She exhales, the breath shaky, and Shaw doesn't move a muscle. She only glares, looking into Root's eyes and Root just wishes, as she licks her own lips, that Shaw's eyes would flicker for just a second. Root moves her hand, slowly, feeling herself tighten around her finger before she pushes a second digit inside, and her reward is Shaw's hand clenching into a fist. Root smiles, her breath quickening as her own fingers move in and out. Shaw's name is on the tip of her tongue but she doesn't dare let herself say it.

Shaw watches her. For an incredibly long moment, Shaw just  _watches_ and then she says, "Root." She says it like it's a warning. Root can't remember the last time Shaw said her name any different.

"I'm," Root breathes, the word coming out more haughty than it was supposed to, "a little busy."

"Get. Me," Shaw says slowly, "Out. Of. These. Cuffs."

"No can do, Sameen," she practically moans, the name falling out of her mouth as her thumb brushes the sensitive flesh of her clitoris. She bites her lip, determined not to say anything else until she rides this out. Her hand's starting to cramp and she can't hold back the next moan that tumbles from her lips, her hips arching from the chair enough that she slides down it, sliding into an awkward angle. "Fuck," she mutters, but she keeps up the rhythm between her legs because she's close. She screws her eyes shut, hard enough that she sees stars on the backs of her eyelids, and she bites her lip, drawing blood and the sting that she needs to fall over the edge.

She hears a click and her eyes open just in time to see Shaw springing from her spot on the bench to her feet. Confusion pulls at Root's consciousness just as Shaw reaches her, a hand wrapping around Root's throat tightly. She squeezes, reminiscent of yesterday and Root comes hard as Shaw drags her lower lip between her teeth, not quite kissing her, but Root doesn't know what else to call it. Shaw's hand remains on her throat as Root comes back down from her high, fingers digging in where Root knows there are some very important blood vessels, hard enough that Root wonders if the anger in her eyes has an actual chance of being tamed. It takes a moment, but Shaw releases her, a thumb swiping her lip before Shaw sticks it in her mouth, tasting Root's blood as she hovers over her. She's unreadable and Root feels exposed, sitting underneath Shaw with, quite literally, her fly unzipped. Shaw grabs her wrist, the one that's still in her jeans, and pulls it out, pairing it with her other one before she kisses Root, softer than Root had expected. Root deepens the kiss, thinking about how this is exactly what she'd wanted, exactly what she'd thought about when --

Shaw clicks the handcuffs around her wrists and Root abruptly pulls away, staring down at her hands. This definitely  _wasn't_ what she'd thought about, but she's not objecting. She's just a little worried, considering that Shaw's walking away and leaving her very, very aroused.

"Shaw," she says, getting to her own feet to follow. Shaw doesn't turn around, but Root's kind of glad for that fact, because she isn't entirely sure what she was going to say, only that she needed to say something. She follows Shaw to the back room where there's a cot and not much else and watches from the doorway as Shaw sheds her jacket, revealing her toned arms as she stands in just tight black pants and a tank. She reaches up to tighten her hairtie and Root feels a tinge of disappointment when she realizes she's not taking her hairtie out completely. She likes it when Sameen's hair is down, but she's not about to say it out loud, especially not right now. 

Shaw looks at her before taking the two steps to cross the distance, a hand closing around the small chain between the cuffs. She wrenches Root's arms above her head, a difficult angle for both of them because of Shaw's height, and kisses Root, all teeth and tongue. Root melts, her hips pushing out before she can really stop them and Shaw pulls away from her, tugging the chain and pushing Root onto the bed.

Root struggles to push herself up from a faceful a pillows and turns over to find herself face to face with Sameen Shaw with a long, glinting knife in her hand. She swallows and watches Shaw come closer, lets her mind wander to blood staining the sheets of the cot, just as Shaw murmurs, "I hope you aren't too attached to these clothes."

She doesn't have time to argue before Shaw's cutting into the jacket she's wearing and then she's not wearing it anymore, her favorite leather jacket now a pile of leather pieces on the ground. Shaw had been careful not to knick Root in the process and Root decides that it's inevitable, as Shaw's hand fists into Root's shirt and her legs settle on either side of Root's waist, that her shirt is going to be ruined, too. She's right, as strips of cotton join the leather when Shaw's done. As much as Root wants to protest when Shaw throws the knife to the side, the weapon making a loud, jarring sound when it hits the concrete, it's swallowed up when Shaw's hands press flat against her stomach, curling around her ribs, as Shaw leans in close. Their lips brush, just slightly, and Root finds herself leaning in for the kiss, wanting to taste Shaw's lips, feel Shaw's kiss on her own. Shaw makes a low sound in the back of her throat that sounds suspiciously like a reprimand as she leans back on her haunches, out of Root's reach.

Root doesn't give her the satisfaction of pouting. 

She doesn't know what game Shaw is playing and she's not used to this at all. She's more accustomed to what Shaw's dubbed "a quick fuck" and being done with it, whatever it is. 

Shaw kneels on the ground and goes to unlace Root's boots, taking her time to get them out of the way. She discards her socks next, not paying them much attention. She undresses Root like she's cleaning a fucking gun and Root wants Shaw to fuck her when she feels strong hands hook around her jeans and tug. As Shaw pulls off her jeans, Root falls back, laying so she can stare at the ceiling. Shaw grabs her hands, then, and Root feels the handcuffs fall slack. She pushes herself up, watching as Shaw picks the lock. Immediately, Root is up and her hands are all over, curling around Shaw's cheeks as her lips meet Shaw's for a kiss. Shaw presses her fingers into the flesh of Root's ass and slides a hand underneath her thigh, hiking it up and around Shaw's waist. The handcuff follows the whole time, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as the cool metal slides across Root's skin.

Shaw follows her into the bed, straddling her hips as Root attempts to get as much friction as she can. Shaw pins Root's hands above her head and Root's chest arches up, begging for contact. She wants Shaw, needs Shaw, but Shaw is still completely clothed and Root is wearing nothing except her undergarments and -- 

"Oh my fucking God, Shaw," Root growls, slamming her wrists against the handcuffs, now two pairs of them. Her wrists are cuffed to each bed post and Shaw leans back, towering over her, admiring her handiwork.

"You really shouldn’t trust strangers,” Shaw says simply, shrugging.

Root rolls her head to the side, attempting to get a good view of the handcuffs. “You’re not a stranger.”

Shaw shifts and gets off of Root’s waist and although she hates to admit it, hates that she really wants Shaw naked right now, Root misses the contact. Shaw digs in the pocket of Root’s jeans and pulls out a license, reading it, “Hm, but I don’t know a ‘Riley Miller’.” She looks at Root and Root kind of wants to taze the neutral expression off of her face. “What does she do?”

“She’s an entertainer,” Root answers, deciding to play along with Shaw’s game.

Shaw, thankfully, tugs off her own jeans. “What kind of entertainer?”

Root crooks a smile. “The naked kind,” she says, whispering it like it’s a secret, and it’s the first time in this whole exchange she thinks that she’s actually caught Shaw off guard. Shaw only stills for a moment before resuming in her movements, shrugging out of her tank as well. Root takes in the lean muscle of her abdomen, following the lines of her hips with her eyes and subconsciously licks her lips. Shaw catches her staring and rolls her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, but she turns away from Root just as Root swears that she sees a blush creeping into Shaw’s cheeks. If Root wasn’t in such a compromising position, she might flirt a bit more, but she only enjoys the show, tracing the curve of Shaw’s backside.

“I lied,” she says as Shaw folds her clothing, which is weird, because she never took Shaw as someone who cared so much about wrinkles. Shaw looks back at her and her expression is carefully composed and she only looks slightly curious. Root bends her right knee, pulling it up slowly, letting her own toes glide against the skin of her calf. She whispers, “Riley Miller isn’t a stripper.”

Shaw scowls and Root takes a small victory when she watches Shaw’s gaze fall to her own legs. She’s always taken pride in her legs; she doesn’t see why Shaw would refuse to look at them. Shaw doesn’t take the bait, though, and she doesn’t say a word, instead crossing the room to pick up the knife from the floor. Root’s mouth goes pleasantly dry.

“I do children’s parties,” she says suddenly, and she doesn’t know why she says it, but she does. “Or, she does. In a bear suit.”

Shaw looks up, confused, and Root hopes that Shaw’s finally going to come onto the bed and touch her. Something other than just letting her lay here with the handcuffs digging into her wrists and the unnaturally cool breeze sending shivers up her spine. Finally, Shaw says, “You know, you just ruined the mood.”

“There was a mood?” Root asks hopefully and she goes for all she has left, letting her knees drift apart and her heels slide on the sheets. Shaw’s knuckles go white on the handle of the knife and Root takes it as a good sign.

Shaw regains her composure, somewhat, as she puts the knife down on a table after checking the blade for any marks. “You’re handcuffed to a bed,” she remarks drily. “What did you think we were going to do?”

Root pushes her head into the pillow behind it, glad that Shaw’s actually admitting to their activities. She remembers Shaw’s threat earlier and says, “You did threaten to kill me.” Shaw doesn’t reply and instead, puts a knee down onto the bed, as if testing the weight. Root feels a spark of arousal pulse through her as Shaw's gaze traverses her skin and she, almost self-consciously, bends her knees and presses them together. Shaw's shoulders flex underneath the weight as she crawls up the bed next to Root and the only advantage Root has is her ability to act completely disinterested, despite the look Shaw's giving her. Shaw settles next to her without saying a word, a hand moving to trace fingertips across Root's stomach and Root, so blissfully in denial, curses her body's reaction. Her hips automatically arch toward Shaw's hand and the muscles of her abdomen clench.

Root takes her bottom lip between her teeth. "Didn't take you for a fucking tease, Sam" she manages as Shaw continues the small ministrations, tiny circles around Root's navel.

"Would you rather I," Shaw says and she doesn't complete the sentence, rather opting to instead drag her nails across sensitive skin before pushing her hand between Root's legs and wet heat. She doesn't waste anytime, pushing two fingers inside and Root cries out, burrowing her face in her arm. Shaw's hand doesn't move and Root bites at her own skin, her hips moving of their own volition, craving the contact and the friction. Shaw pulls from inside of her and disappears, but Root doesn't really bother with opening her eyes. She doesn't, until she feels the cool metal of the knife on her skin just in time to see Shaw climb on top of her, settling onto her waist. Root arches up against her, feeling Shaw just as ready as she is. Shaw pulls the knife across Root's skin and cuts off her bra before Root can protest, throwing both the tattered remains and the knife to the side before she's leaning down and capturing Root's lips in a bruising kiss.

She kisses like she punches, hard and unrelenting, but Root never minded the pain of teeth and biting, least of all from Shaw. She's messy, too, her lips moving against Root's with purpose, yet almost clumsily, as if she doesn't quite know what to do with herself. Root doesn't care either way, responding to the kiss with fervor, pushing her tongue past Shaw's lips and licking her way around Shaw's mouth until Shaw's breathing is ragged. She kisses and bites along Root's jaw, marking, and Root doesn't hold back the cries that bubble up from her throat when teeth close around her breast, a soft hand on the other one. The contrast is simple yet deafening, and Root is almost seeing stars as she's sure that Shaw is going to draw blood. She doesn't though, her tongue quickly replacing her teeth and her hand snakes its way between the two of them, between Root's legs.

The second time Shaw pushes into her, Root strains against the handcuffs painfully, wishing nothing more than to weave her fingers into Shaw's hair and pull or to rake her nails across the expanse of Shaw's back and leave a bloody trail in their wake.

She settles on letting her legs portray her dissatisfaction, wrapping them tightly around Shaw's waist as Shaw grunts into her neck, starting up a rhythm that is both fast and difficult for Root to take. Her hips push into it anyway, begging for it, and Shaw gives, adding a third digit as she slows down. She uses her knee for leverage and bites into Root's shoulder, pulling the orgasm from Root so suddenly that the woman beneath her is embarrassed for only a moment before Shaw is pulling her fingers from her and wiping them on the sheets. Shaw drags her lips down the junction between Root's breasts, lapping up the sweat and soon she wraps her hands around each of Root's pale, slightly shaking thighs.

Her breath ghosts on the inside of Root's skin and Root, still riding the high of the first orgasm, thinks dazedly about Shaw's need for control. She's not about to complain, but she finds it oddly funny. Shaw lifts herself up and gives her a strange look and thats when Root realizes that she must've laughs out loud. There's something like concern in Shaw's eyes and Root supposes that she must think that Root's on the edge of being delirious. It wouldn't be a stretch.

"Are you okay?" Shaw asks, and it isn't really concern laced into her voice, but more like annoyance. She says it like she's obligated to ask before she can go on, like she couldn't necessarily care less. And really, Root doesn't want Shaw to care. Not really.

Root nods, not trusting words at the moment.

Shaw echoes the movement before dipping her head forward. Root only has time to revel in the feeling of Shaw's hot breath on her center a quick moment before Shaw's lips are on her, tasting and teasing in a way that is absolutely nothing like Shaw has ever been before. Shaw's fingers are going to leave bruises in her thighs and Root's wrists are going to be spotted purple, she knows, as she grips the chain of the handcuffs. Root can already feel herself climbing toward her second release as the beckon of Shaw's tongue, coming undone. She unravels, hips twitching as Shaw teases against her entrance. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Shaw's teeth brush sensitive flesh and her fingers dig into her hip, nails almost cutting into flesh and it's just enough for Root to tumble over the edge, keeping silent this time. She bites her lip, tasting iron in her own mouth.

Shaw tastes it, too, when she crawls back up Root's body to kiss her, not any softer than before. Root tastes her own blood and herself on Shaw's lips and when Shaw leans back, ruby sliding down her chin, Root groans.

"Shaw," she grinds out, gazing at the expanse of tanned skin before her. Scars on Shaw's shoulder and abs and thighs. "Let me out." She doesn't say why, that she needs to touch Shaw, needs to feel Shaw writhing underneath her, mostly because she thinks that it won't help her cause.

A drop of blood falls onto Root's stomach from Shaw's chin and Shaw reaches up to her own face to wipe it away. "I don't need a babysitter," she says, and Root has a sinking realization.

Shaw gets up and puts her clothes back on, slowly and methodically. Root glares at her. Shaw leaves without another word. Root thrashes against the restraints, ignoring the harsh pain in her wrists. She feels like a child in time-out, except she's wearing nothing but underwear and her wrists are bleeding. It takes her more than an hour to figure out how to get out of the handcuffs one-handed, and even then, it takes some embarrassing stretching on her part to reach the knife on the ground with her feet. Even then, she manages, somehow to pick the goddamn lock.

She lies there a moment once she's free, rubbing her wrists. She gets dressed and exits the room, stopping when she sees Finch sitting at his desk and Shaw not too far off.

"Ms. Groves," he greets, not looking up. "What brings you back so soon?"

Her eyes go to Shaw, who's sitting casually and cleaning one of her guns. She shrugs, pulling on her sleeve. "Just wanted to check on a certain prisoner. Keep an eye on her, Harry."

"Oh, I plan to." He turns to her, zeroing in on her split lip. "I appreciate you helping when I called."

"How is the big lug, anyway?"

"Working another number," Harold supplies. "We could use your help on that front, seeing as Ms. Shaw is unavailable at the moment."

"And I'll stay put if I have something to eat," Shaw pipes up from her side of the room.

Root tries not to flinch when she hears Shaw's voice.

"Yes," Finch says, frowning. "You mentioned that."

"I'll see what I can do," Root tells him, patting his shoulder, "but right now I've got some work to do."

She has to go past Shaw to get out of the subway station, but Root holds her head high. She stops, suddenly finding more courage than she thought she originally had. She leans toward Shaw when she notices the other woman still her hands on her guns, but Shaw doesn't look up. "Bye, Sameen."

She kisses Shaw on the forehead and enjoys the way she can feel Shaw glaring at her on the way out. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this and happy holidays.


End file.
